


Something Stupid

by dustywoolhat



Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Martin and Lewis
Genre: 1940s, 5+1 Things, Angst, Crying, Dancing, Drinking, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Holding Hands, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, New Year's Eve, Pining, Rain, Sexual Tension, Snow, adding tags as I go, comic books
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24652828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustywoolhat/pseuds/dustywoolhat
Summary: When I saw you, I fell in love, and you smiled, because you knew.Arrigo BoitoFive times Jerry said I love you, and the one time Dean said it back.
Relationships: Jerry Lewis/Dean Martin
Comments: 18
Kudos: 39





	1. Can’t Take My Eyes Off You

_July, 1945_

“Hey Paul?”

“Yeah, Jer?”

“Can we get a malted? I’m dyin’ over here.”

“Sure, kid. Let me get a shirt real quick.”

_Kid._ That’s what most people called him. Usually he wouldn’t mind it, but from Dean, it mattered. Everything mattered when it came to Dean. He liked that he had made such a nice friend, a nice _older_ friend, a friend who tolerated him and would buy him malteds without making fun of him, even if it made him look like the kid he really was.

Sure, he made lots of pals, most of them a lot older than he was, but none of them were quite like Dean. Since the day he met him, he knew he wanted to be his friend. He knew he wouldn’t hurt him, he knew he had a real pal, and he couldn’t get enough of Dean. He only saw him on occasion, but when they were in the same town, Jerry wanted to be by his side. Being around him made him feel all warm inside, and a bit nervous at times, too. But Dean always put him at ease, and he was easy to talk to. He was starting to like Dean more and more every day.

And the nickname– _Jer_. He liked it. He liked the way it came out in a soft, easy drawl, and it made Jerry giddy. To be fair, most things Dean did made Jerry giddy.

He also liked how Dean let him call him by his middle name. Nobody else did as far as Jerry knew, and it felt like it was _his_. It was his nickname for Dean, he was _his_ Paul, and Jerry liked it that way. Dean seemed to like it that way, too.

Jerry got up from his chair and tossed his comic book on top of the bed. They were in Dean’s hotel room at the Belmont Plaza, doing nothing but reading magazines and comic books and talking. Dean was a bit embarrassed about being caught, having left his comic books out on the nightstand when he first arrived as if they were risqué magazines, but Jerry didn’t mind. Rather, he found it cute. Still, he had to pinky promise he wouldn’t tell anyone.

The pair of glasses, however, were the biggest surprise to Jerry. They sat atop the short stack of magazines, and Jerry was dying to know who they belonged to.

It was the middle of July, and the summer heat made them lazy, and the room was stuffy and sticky. Dean had just showered before Jerry arrived, and decided to keep his shirt off; he was only staying in the comfort of his own room, after all. He opened the windows, letting in late morning sunlight and the sounds of cars passing by, and Jerry chuckled to himself every time he heard yelling from the streets.

When he arrived, Jerry sat down in the chair in the corner and watched while Dean walked around the room, picking up a few things and making his bed, insisting that it was alright that Jerry was there, and to have a drink if he wanted. Jerry had just had a malted, though, and it looked like the only drink Dean had was scotch, which wouldn’t sit comfortably on Jerry’s stomach.

As Dean tidied up, Jerry watched, admiring his smooth, sun-kissed skin that seemed to glisten in the sunlight, and Jerry‘s mouth had been dry since the minute Dean had opened up the door. Maybe he should get a drink after all. Jerry was put at ease with smooth conversation; they talked about work, and Jerry briefly wondered if Dean got any of his notes he had been leaving on the dressing room mirrors, but didn’t mention anything.

When he was done, he was running a comb through his hair, looking into the mirror above the dresser so he didn’t have to yell from the bathroom. Jerry could see his face through the mirror, but Jerry’s eyes focused on the man’s back. He admired his broad shoulders, and the way his high-waisted pants made his legs look longer than they already were, and the way his muscles flexed as his arms raised to make his hair perfect, which it always was.

That was when Jerry asked about the pair of round, thick-rimmed glasses.

Dean kept quiet for a second and his eyes cast down.

“They yours?” Jerry asked.

More silence. Dean finished with his hair while Jerry sat patiently. He knew better than to pry.

“Yeah,” Dean finally said, turning to stand next to the bed. “I need them to read sometimes.” He slipped the glasses on and stretched himself on the bed. He threw Jerry a comic book and opened one for himself, not saying another word as he began reading.

Jerry tried to read his comic book, but Superman became much less important when Dean was across from him looking like that. He looked awfully good, smoking a cigarette while reading a Flash Gordon comic, legs out in front of him with one propped up to hold the pages, his trouser legs rolled up a few inches. Jerry wished he had a camera. He was so beautiful. Clark Kent was nothing compared to the Adonis across from him. Like he thought before, his hair was perfect, and Jerry wanted to sit next to him and push away the curl that had fallen on his forehead. For the time being, Jerry snapped a mental photograph and kept it in a photo album of Dean, along with a bunch of others that Jerry seemed to frequent a lot nowadays. A shot of the day they first met, a clip of Dean laughing at a joke Jerry made, a snippet of a gentle look that said that he was alright with his new kid companion. Jerry liked that one a lot.

Jerry smiled at his mental photo book and stretched his body awake while facing the window, looking down at the busy street below. When he turned around, he found Dean at the dresser, pulling out a polo shirt from the second drawer. He put it on, and Jerry appreciated the way a red stripe ran across his broad chest, and the way the collar popped up as he put it on. The two top buttons were kept open, revealing from of his hairless chest and the chain of his St. Christopher necklace. Dean caught his eyes in the mirror as he folded down the collar and smiled. Jerry quickly averted his eyes, knowing his face had gone red when he was caught staring.

“You ready?” Dean asked, tucking the shirt in. Jerry only hummed and bobbed his head yes, not trusting himself to speak. He was afraid his voice would squeak, and that would only make things worse.

Jerry followed Dean out the hotel room and down the stairs wordlessly. Jerry hadn’t yet asked for the real reason why Dean always insisted on using the stairs instead of the elevator, Dean only claimed it was faster. Maybe Dean was psychotic or something. Oh well. It was only a couple floors. When they got outside, Dean let out a heavy sigh at the heat. “Sure wish I went to the beach today,” he muttered as the sun beat down, peeping through tall buildings.

“Let’s go tomorrow!” Jerry said too quickly, too loudly, too eagerly, but it didn’t matter. Not when Dean looked down at him like that, with the corners of his lips turning into the smallest amused smile.

“Sure, kid. We can go tomorrow. My treat.”

“I’ll meet you here, then.”

They kept their gazes locked on each other for a moment too long, and Jerry had to look away from Dean’s kind eyes, his cheeks rosy. That giddy feeling was back, and he grinned silly. It didn’t help when they would sometimes brush shoulders, or when he felt Dean’s hand slide against his, tempting Jerry to take his hand and overlap their fingers. But Jerry only snagged his pinky into Dean’s, still smiling. But when realization settled with a flash of panic, he took a deep breath and tried to calm his mind. _But it was innocent enough, nothing that said too much, right?_ said the rational part of his brain. He made no effort to pull away, however, and it reassured him that Dean didn’t pull his hand away either. _This was okay_.

The drug store was only next door, much to both of their convenience, and they found themselves a table by the window. Jerry ordered his vanilla malted, while Dean ordered himself a Coke and a large cherry pastry he had seen in the window at the front counter that made Jerry’s stomach growl, so Jerry ordered himself one as well. It only took a moment for their drinks to arrive, and Jerry took a big gulp of his milkshake.

“Careful there, kid, don’t wanna drown yourself,” Dean warned him.

“These things are keepin’ me alive, y’know.”

“Boy, do I,” Dean said with a smile. He lit up a cigarette and gazed outside, ending their conversation short, no longer paying any attention to the young boy who watched his friend, a longing look in his big hazel eyes.

Jerry liked to study Dean. Dino Paul Crocetti was a tough cookie to crack, but Jerry knew some of his deepest darkest secrets that made him feel like he would be staying with him for a while. Why Dean told him anything was a mystery, maybe he just had a kind face. Even today he got to learn something new about his friend, something that Dean was pretty embarrassed about. He wondered how many people knew Dean Martin liked reading comic books, or that he sometimes needed to wear a pair of glasses. Or how many people got the pleasure to sit in a room with him, reading his comic books. Jerry liked to think he was one of very few. Today altogether felt like a secret. _How wonderful_.

Jerry liked that he could trust Dean. The day he first spoke to him, he knew he could trust Dean, and Dean trusted him, even if it took a pinky promise to feel confident in their secrecy.

Boy, what a day (and night) that had been, the day they met. Jerry smiled at the memory while looking at Dean’s eyes, which were watching passerby and cars. His eyes were soft and sweet, a joyous twinkle in his eye that always put Jerry at ease. Dean was cool, and he had something that Jerry couldn’t put his finger on. Something he knew that he, himself, didn’t have. But Dean left an effect on everyone he knew, and not just the women. Even after one short talk with Dean Martin, Jerry just knew. He knew his life had changed that night.

Besides, Dean was someone you wouldn’t be able to forget after you’ve had a long night with him. _Couldn’t_ be able to forget. Jerry thought about him every day, hoping, praying he’ll be in the same town, that he’ll get to see him, but only missing him by barely a week at times, left only to write silly notes on dressing room mirrors like a teenage boy (even though he _was_ a teenage boy) too shy to properly talk to the girl he had a crush on. The young skinny Jew was nobody compared to the Italian street singer, and to be honest, why Dean paid any mind to him would forever be a mystery.

There was another quality that drew Jerry to Dean: he was quiet. For being the funny, cool, nonchalant man he was, he was reserved and liked to be alone. Sometimes a reserved individual, at times, could be intimidating and difficult to approach, but Dean had such a kind, soft face, with a smile that lit up a teenage Jew’s world, he could put anyone at ease immediately after a few friendly words. How he was ever a boxer, Jerry didn’t know.

Jerry respected his silence. Of course, as long as he got to be next to him. Or across from him. Even in the next room, Jerry was comfortable with Dean’s silence. As long as he was with him, _Jerry was okay_. And anyway, he sure could talk for the both of them.

At the same time, Jerry had come to find out that when his new pal was irritated, boy, you’ll know it. He’ll ignore you, snap at you. Jerry found that out the hard way. He’ll turn ice cold, a stark contrast to his usual sunny day disposition that Jerry had fallen madly in love with.

_In love?_ Jerry exhaled through his nose in a small laugh and looked down at his milkshake, playing with his straw. A big grin grew on his face. _Where the fuck did that come from?_ He let out a little giggle. It was such a silly thought.

“What are you laughing at?” Dean asked. 

His voice brought him back to the present and Jerry‘s eyes darted up to look at him. He had the expression of a child who had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Oh, it wasn’t as crazy as one would think. No, young Jerry Lewis was in love. He knew it as his heart began to pound when Dean caught him, and how shy he suddenly felt under his teasing eyes.

“Nothing,” he lied. _I love you_. He adjusted himself in his seat. “Just... You with glasses.” _I love you and your glasses and your comic books and the way you wear that shirt and your curly hair and..._

Dean gave him a look, but a smile followed, and Jerry knew it was alright. It was maddening how Dean could both calm and unnerve him at the same time. “It’s not easy being an old man,” Dean said.

Jerry scoffed. “You’re tellin’ me! I bet you get worn out after one round of being in bed.”

“You wanna find that out?” he drawled.

Jerry was launched into a coughing fit, having choked on his milkshake, and he looked at Dean with wide, incredulous eyes. Dean only laughed, a satisfied grin on his face. _Bastard_.

Thankfully, Jerry didn’t have to say anything as the waitress came with their food. Jerry knew he was as red as a cherry, and he barely managed a nod as his thank you.

They finished their meal in silence after that, with Jerry stealing glances at Dean, sometimes catching his knowing smile that infuriated him.

When they finished, Dean paid, even though Jerry argued that he had enough money. Dean only waved him off as he lit a cigarette and said, “I haven’t seen you in awhile. You’re paying next time, though.”

That made Jerry frown, and he couldn’t help himself from putting a dollar in the tip jar when Dean was already halfway out of the door. Jerry caught up, and he looked at him. “Thanks,” Jerry said.

Dean didn’t say anything, he just looked back with a cool expression on his face, like it wasn’t a big deal, because nothing ever was, and if Jerry didn’t know any better, he would say Dean stepped closer to him and ran his shoulder against his as they walked on purpose.

Jerry turned his head away to keep his blush at bay. Dean was too close, and he knew Dean was still looking at him, and he wished his heartbeat wasn’t going a mile a minute. He was positive Dean was going to kill him sooner or later.

It was a short walk back to the hotel, but half way, Jerry felt Dean’s hand brush against his. Jerry kept his gaze forward, trying not to react. Then, a warm hand enveloped his, and Jerry felt infinitely small.

_Dean Martin was holding his hand_.

Jerry turned to look at Dean. Dean never took his eyes off him, and they sparkled. The same three words repeated in his mind: _I love you_. He hoped his eyes showed it. He wanted—no, _needed_ —Dean to know. Then Dean squeezed his hand, looked away, and took a drag of his cigarette.

“Don’t think too much, kid.”


	2. Thunderstorms and Neon Signs

_Fall, 1946_

They had made it. Well, not all the way, but Jerry was pretty sure they were on their way to something marvelous, something magical. Martin and Lewis were the hottest new item in town, performing nightly at the 500 Club to packed houses with streets that were jam-packed with crowds to see their show, and Jerry felt like he was going to live forever. He could do anything, as long as he had his partner right there beside him. 

Now, they were performing at the Havana-Madrid, and were enjoying their Sunday night off (well, it was Monday morning, but who's paying attention?). They were at Leon & Eddie’s, having come last weekend to enjoy Celebrity Night, when they had been noticed and had the opportunity to perform nonsense comedy that lit up the place. That’s when Jerry realized they were actually something. A year ago he scoffed at the idea of performing at Leon & Eddie’s, let alone at Celebrity Night, but there they were, messing with a piano player and poking fun at each other, doing anything to get a laugh, and boy did they laugh.

The night was coming to an end, and Jerry had his head resting on Dean’s shoulder, having scooted his chair next to him. Jerry had to ask for the time, too lazy to check his own watch, and too drunk to focus on anything other than the fingers that lightly tapped on his knee. It was fifteen till four, and Dean was ready to go.

“You’ve had too much to drink, Jer,” Dean said. He tried to stand up, but Jerry grabbed a hold of his suit and pulled him back down.

“No! You’ve just had too little,” Jerry countered. Dean was right, though. Jerry never drank, but Dean bought him a glass of scotch at the beginning of the night, and he did his best to swallow it. As the night went on, the easier it got to swallow it down, and Dean had to stop him before it got worse than it already was. Now he was getting sleepy, but he refused to let the night end. He had had such a fun time; it was only him and Dean, and Jerry liked to think of it as a date. By this logic, they’d gone on many dates, and every one of them were better than the last. 

“Well, someone has to walk you home,” Dean said. Jerry could feel Dean’s eyes watch him with a sort of bemusement, but he didn’t mind. He just liked that Dean’s eyes were on him.

After a short yawn, Jerry announced that he wanted a malted. When did he not want a malted? Dean told him no, it was raining, and let’s get back to the warm hotel and get some rest before the rain gets any worse. Jerry just told him it was a perfect night to walk, then, and why didn’t you bring an umbrella? To Jerry’s surprise, Dean gave in rather easily, probably too tired to argue. Jerry gave him a big kiss on his cheek as a thank you. Now he was ready to go.

Jerry heard Dean mutter something as he stood up, causing Jerry to sit up straight in his chair. He helped Jerry to his feet and wrapped his arm around Jerry’s skinny shoulders. Jerry let himself smile and giggle as he cuddled under Dean’s arm.

The air was cool and wet outside, and there was a pleasant drizzle of rain echoing in the quiet street. There were footsteps and laughter in the background, but all Jerry could hear was the constant stream of a drain pipe spilling onto the pavement in an alley and the boom of thunder a few blocks away. It was rather comforting.

“Where do you want to go?” Jerry heard Dean ask not unkindly, his voice tired as he popped up the collar of his jacket.

“That nice place on Broadway- Y'know the one with the nice doughnuts and coffee. You can get a pie, Paul,” Jerry managed to slur out happily.

“Jerry, that’s a twenty minute walk,” Dean complained. It was a twenty minute walk to the hotel, too, but Jerry didn’t say anything about that. "Let's just go to Lindy's, it's five minutes away."

“It’s so nice out, Paul,” said Jerry, ignoring his friend’s distress and suggestion. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“What’s so wonderful about it? It’s wet and cold.”

“Yeah, but look!” Jerry vaguely gestured to… Dean didn’t know what, but he let Jerry go on, “The lights. It’s so colorful and beautiful, Paul. And– And the rain just makes it that much better, you see? You gotta see.”

Dean nodded and looked at the neon lights. Jerry followed his eyes and grinned. The lights for Leon & Eddie’s had different colors on the sign, and across the street, the neon was primarily a mixture of reds and oranges, with the sweetest hint of blue. Jerry admired the way the bright lights reflected hazily in the wet street and made the cars that lined along the street glitter with gold and teal. The light was soft in the misty drizzle down the street, and Jerry thought to himself again, _It’s so beautiful_. Neon signs were all he knew, and Jerry felt at home against Dean’s side, letting the smell of raindrops on dirty pavement and the smoke and drink from Dean’s jacket overwhelm his senses.

After a few minutes of walking, Jerry stopped them. He turned to press his body against Dean’s, wrapped his arms inside both of Dean’s jackets, and snuggled his head against his neck. He was now breathing in his woody aftershave and sweet cologne, which made his head fuzzy. Jerry let out an ‘Hmm’ when he felt Dean’s arms embrace him, keeping him close. Dean was warm and Jerry’s skinny frame fit perfectly in Dean’s arms.

“Am tired,” Jerry said, his voice muffled by Dean’s collar.

“Let’s get to the hotel,” Dean suggested for the second time that night, “And you can get into a nice, warm bed, and I can tuck you in.”

Jerry nodded and pulled his head away from his neck to look into Dean’s eyes, which had a glint of something, like adoration mixed with something Jerry couldn’t quite place that made Jerry feel _complicated_ inside and want to burst into tears.

But Dean looked gorgeous like this, the soft orange glow of the neon lights illuminating his face, his features creating interesting shadows and his eyes were gold. Jerry wanted to kiss him right then, but instead he merely asked, “And I get a kiss goodnight?”

“Yes, and you get a kiss goodnight,” Dean told him softly.

Jerry grinned at his partner. “You promise?”

“Yeah, I promise.”

“You won’t forget?”

“Nope.”

“If you do, I’ll make you give me a kiss goodnight every night.”

There was a beat of silence. Oh. _Oh. Well now he’s done it._

“Okay, Jer. Deal.”

Jerry felt that that was enough and nuzzled his head back against Dean’s shoulder. Dean let out a sigh and wrapped his long coat around Jerry, sheltering him from the light rain, and turned them around. Jerry knew as well as Dean that it was still a lengthy walk back to the hotel, but Dean didn’t want to spend his money on a cab. Jerry didn’t mind, either. He was warm against his partner. His Dean. _His Paul._

As they walked, the rain got worse, soaking their clothes. Jerry’s pomade was rinsing out and Dean’s curls fell on his forehead. “Let’s hurry,” Dean said, pushing him out of his arms gently. “I can’t have you getting sick. I can’t go back to a single when we just became a double.”

Jerry knew Dean was trying to keep his tone light, and it worked, for he smiled and (albeit a little reluctant) shifted and attached himself to Dean’s side, his arm over his broad shoulders. Dean’s arm wrapped around his waist to keep him close. They continued like this, and Jerry found the thunder was getting closer. There was lightning in the clouds, and Jerry would silently count before he heard a grumble of thunder. Not too bad, a few miles away. But the rain was getting heavier, and Jerry was getting cold. The neon lights reflected in puddles on the dark pavement danced with the raindrops, and Jerry watched them sleepily as their pace sped up to a jog.

Soon, they made it to the dry, warm hotel. Jerry let out a complaining groan when Dean led them to the stairs. “Dean, why can’t we take the elevator? Just this once? I don’t think my spaghetti legs can make it up three flights of stairs,” he complained in his kid voice.

Dean shook his head. “You know goddamn well why, Jer. You’ve walked up these stairs many times, stop complaining.”

Jerry only groaned again and tried to get his legs up the stairs without tripping, which he did almost successfully, with only one or two stumbles and a couple of giggles. Dean was keeping him up, his arm still protective around his waist, but Jerry's feet were known to fumble and his mind was soupy. 

Once inside their hotel room, Dean’s arm slipped away. “Get yourself out of those wet clothes.” He busied himself by taking off his own articles of clothing, jackets, tie, shoes, and he turned on the lamp next to Jerry’s bed. Dean continued, “If we get pneumonia, I’m going to blame you and”—he saw Jerry struggle with his tie with trembling hands—“Oh, let me get that.” His tone was authoritative but caring, edged with exasperation, slipping easily into his role of Dad. 

His voice turned to warmth and amusement when he added, “You feel like you’re gonna explode, boy. We need to get you warmed up.” Jerry only nodded and giggled. His whole body shook, and he could swear he could hear his teeth chatter.

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold, the alcohol, or just being with Dean. Maybe it was all three. And he couldn’t help himself from trembling; it was almost comical how his hands shook when he fumbled with the top button of his shirt. He didn’t hide his grin when Dean took matters into his own hands, taking off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. His jackets were already thrown on a chair in the middle of the room, now with his tie on top of them.

He watched as his hands unbuttoned his shirt, blushing when his mind twisted the imagery. He lifted his head to look at Dean, who was looking back at him, and there was the smallest hint of a smile on his face. This only made Jerry blush even more, and he had to look away.

When there were hands at his belt, Jerry’s cold hands covered Dean’s and his eyes were back on Dean’s face. “Woah, buddy, you oughta buy me a drink first,” Jerry joked. The idiot took over his voice, but he took a step back and hoped Dean would understand. It was a little too much, and he was embarrassed.

Dean turned and stepped into the bathroom, leaving Jerry alone to rummage through the dresser for a pair of comfortable pajamas. He took a deep breath, hoping it would calm his accelerating heartbeat, but it did nothing. Then he felt a towel draped over his shoulders.

“Can you dry yourself off?” Dean asked softly from behind. 

Jerry nodded in response. He was rather glad he was facing away from him. He dried his torso and hair, before changing into a pair of soft pajamas. He had calmed down then, his body no longer shaking and his heart was a normal beat again. His eyes were becoming heavy as he crawled into his bed. There was faint noise coming from the bathroom; what Dean was doing, Jerry didn’t know. He didn’t care as he let out a loud yawn and listened to the sound of approaching thunder.

He didn’t know his eyes had closed until they fluttered open to the feeling of the bed dipping next to him. Dean sat there, shirtless with pajama pants and his cool smile. How beautiful he was, under the warm orange glow of the lamp, hair still damp from the rain and there was that one dastardly curl on his forehead that made Jerry’s heart swell.

“Dean?” Jerry’s voice was small and uncertain.

“Yeah, kid?” A whisper.

“You have fun tonight?”

Dean’s smile didn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, I did.”

“Even though I made you walk home in the rain?”

“Yeah, even though you made me walk home in the rain.”

“Good, then I’ll take you out more.” He giggled and turned over to lay on his side.

“Not if you’re going to have all the fun!” Dean was back into his role as Dad as he pulled the sheets up to Jerry's chin. His hand lingered on the boy’s shoulder, playing with the fabric.

“You coulda drank too, Paul, you’re old enough.”

“Someone has to watch the nine year old,” Dean said, voice full with affection.

A blanket of silence lay on the room as they shared a conversation with their eyes. Saying nothing and everything at the same time. There was that something Jerry couldn’t specify in Dean’s eyes again, and he felt the moisture behind his eyes, and his throat got tight. How could he do that with a look?

Dean’s hand slowly moved from his shoulder to his hair. His thumb stroking soothingly across his temple and into his hair, and they sat like that for what seemed like forever. Jerry’s eyes had fallen closed and his breathing was shallow.

As he felt Dean move to get up, Jerry’s eyes opened and whispered, “Don’t I get my kiss goodnight?”

There was a sign of... disappointment? _No. Could it?_ But it was. Dismay flickered in Dean’s eyes. _He wanted to forget._

“Of course,” he whispered back. He leaned down and pressed his lips gently to Jerry’s temple, and it was getting hard to keep tears from falling. 

He was so lucky to have Dean in his life. He wasn’t sure where he’d be without him, but he knew it wouldn’t be here, warm in a hotel room with a handsome man looking after him, giving him a kiss goodnight. Without Dean, they wouldn’t be the hit they are now. Jerry realized he needed Dean. He needed him so bad, in every way imaginable. As a partner, as a friend, and even more than a friend. And they were partners and pals, and Jerry loved it. Jerry loved what he was doing, making stupid jokes and funny faces, and the best part about it, he loved who he was doing it with. He was so madly in love with Dean Martin that he wanted to shout about it, but instead he only smiled at Dean.

Jerry sat up against the headboard, and Dean’s hand fell beside him. Now he was leaning over him a little, and Jerry saw Dean’s eyes look his face over, lingering on his lips as he spoke. “One more thing?” Jerry asked.

A confused Dean nodded. “Sure, pal.”

Hesitantly, Jerry placed his hands on Dean’s cheeks and moved close to him, his lips a hair's breadth away from his, their noses bumping into each other. "I love you," he whispered before pressing his lips upon Dean's in a soft kiss. After a second, Jerry felt him reciprocate. At that, Jerry wrapped his arms around his neck. When his tongue pressed against his lips, hands were on his arms to gently push him away and tears fell down Jerry’s cheeks.

When Jerry pulled away, there was a startled look on Dean’s face, as well as... It was _regret_. And _fear_. That was what had been hiding behind the kindness, the affection, the _love_. Jerry felt like he had been punched in the stomach. Dean’s expression was rueful as he turned his head away. “Not tonight, Jerry.” Dean got up and turned the light off.

Jerry wanted to grab for Dean and ask him to stay, but he knew it would be too much. Instead, he slid back into bed and searched for Dean in the dark, barely visible in the light that filtered in through the window. He heard Dean lay on his bed and light a cigarette, a soft orange flaming barely illuminating his face, smoking framing his head. He was so beautiful. He should tell him more often.

With that, his eyes closed and his pillow dried his tears. Thunder boomed above the hotel, and Jerry heard Dean swear. He kept his smile to himself, and fell asleep to heavy rain tapping on the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration photo for this chapter:  
> A view of 52nd Street from 6th Avenue, circa 1948  
> 


	3. I Don't Know Why (I Just Do)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title: You Took The Words Right Out Of My Mouth

_December, 1947_

Jerry liked to lead when they danced. It was always natural when they began dancing spontaneously during a show (if there was room for it), and neither of them mentioned it afterwards. It just happened. But Jerry wished they danced more often, when no one was looking, just the two of them, Dean taking the lead and Jerry resting his head on his shoulder.

Well, that’s what he wanted for Christmas. He wanted to dance.

To press up against his partner, cheek to cheek, swaying in a dark hotel room as the radio played sweet slow love songs that seemed dedicated to them; to breathe in the scent of Woodhue, and to kiss soft lips that tasted like cheap champagne and cigarettes; to stay up until the wee hours of the morning dancing and kissing; to fall asleep in strong arms, and to sleep well into mid-afternoon.

Jerry let out a dreamy sigh as he looked out the window, a lazy smile on his face. It was early in the morning, just light enough that Jerry could see the snow falling delicately onto the tops of awnings and streetlights, and down to the pavement, creating a fine sheet on the quiet street. They had just got to the hotel from a show and an early breakfast at some diner not an hour ago, and they were winding down before they got some rest.

Jerry was sitting on the floor, bundled up in the warm, fluffy comforter from his bed, leaning against the frame. He sure would like another one of those warm, fluffy bagels that were sweet and salty, but he knew Dean wouldn’t walk with him. _Too cold_ , he would say. _Too tired_. And it would be a task having to get dressed, only to come back to the hotel and undress again to get some sleep. Jerry let out another sigh, this one a bit sad, but Dean brought him out of his daydream of bagels and dancing.

“What’re you sighing about down there?” Dean asked from his bed. He was reading a comic book, and Jerry hoped it was one he got him for an early Christmas present (well, sort of; Dean saw some on a newsstand when they were on their way to lunch, or rather, breakfast, and said something along the lines of “Say, I been meanin’ to get a new comic book” with a pleasantness in his voice that Jerry felt it was absolutely necessary he got some for him the next time they had time to kill. He even put a nice bow on them, wrote on the back of a business card “Happy Hanukkah From Your Favorite Jew,” and handed it to him on the last day of Hanukkah).

Jerry turned away from the window to peer over his bed. He opened his mouth to say what was on his mind, but shut it just as fast as he opened it. He was a bit embarrassed to say it out loud, so he said quickly, “Nothing.” He got up from the floor, the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, and sat next to Dean on his bed. He took his comic book from his hands and inspected it.

“This any good?” he said as he flipped through the pages, resulting in Dean letting out a groan because he lost his spot. It was a western action comic called _Golden Arrow_ , but Jerry was almost positive Dean already had this one. He pouted and looked at him, “Hey, Dean, this doesn’t look like any of the ones I got you. You ain’t gonna read that new _Special Agent_? Or- Or that crime stories one, I thought you might like that, or that new edition of _Hopalong Cassidy_ , I know how much you like those, and have you started that new one you got last month?” He went on in his kid voice, until Dean turned to look at him and just smiled. Jerry stopped talking and sheepishly smiled back.

“I will, Jer, but why don’t you let me finish this one, huh?” Dean said and took his comic book back, fluttering through the pages until he got to what he thought was the same page he had been on before.

Jerry only stared on at Dean, wondering how that man could give him a look, a lazy but fond smile on his face, and quiet him. It made his heart flutter and fly into his throat and soon his smile cracked into a grin. He shuffled closer to Dean and rested his head on his shoulder, pretending he was reading the comic with him while his focus was on the butterflies in his stomach, and the way Dean’s cologne overwhelmed his senses.

After a short while, Jerry felt his eyelids get heavy, tired after a long night, warm against Dean’s body. He felt more than heard Dean put his comic book on the bedside table, and Dean shifted on the bed, trying to lay Jerry down.

“Hey Jer–“ Dean started gently, but Jerry cut him off.

“Let’s do something tonight.” Jerry’s eyes opened to look up at Dean. Dean was leaning over him, and his head was propped up by his hand.

“Okay. What do you wanna do?” Dean had the smallest hint of a smile on his lips, and Jerry wanted to lean up and kiss it away. He had to look away, though, shy under Dean’s gaze, just a little embarrassed. Even after x amount of years they’ve known each other, Dean still managed to make Jerry act like a bashful teenage girl.

Jerry shrugged. “Let’s just go out.”

“Out? But it’s cold at night.” Dean made a face.

Jerry batted his eyelashes. “Oh, please, Paul. Make a Jew happy for Christmas.”

He saw Dean soften and smile. “Okay. But only for a little while.” He turned to lay on his back beside Jerry, their shoulders touching. “I get a day off and the boy wants to go out! Such a busy boy, this boy,” he says to the ceiling in a thick Italian accent.

It was Jerry’s turn to lean over Dean, giving him a big kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Paul! I’ll make sure we have a good time. And I’ll bring you home before bedtime, okay?”

“Okay, Jer.” They looked at each other for a beat too long, Jerry’s hands on either side of Dean, all sweet smiles and sparkling eyes, until Dean gently pressed Jerry off of him. “Now go shut those curtains and let the old man get some sleep.”

The show wasn’t very good. Mediocre at best. But the music was just fine; couples danced on the floor, holding each other close and laughing. Meanwhile, Jerry stared at the table. Dean was sitting next to him in their booth, his arm resting behind Jerry on the maroon crushed leather, his other hand wrapped around his glass of scotch with a cigarette between his fingers. It was nearing midnight now, and the band played soft and low.

“I wanna dance, Paul,” Jerry said.

“Go find you a girl, Jer, you’re big enough,” replied Dean, who turned his head to smile at his partner.

Jerry looked back, reciprocating his grin. “I would but you’re in my way,” the Idiot said.

“Oh.” Dean shrugged and his head turned away, bringing his glass to his lips, smoke curling around his head.

Jerry poked at Dean’s side. “Let me out! If you don’t let me out to find a girl, you’ll just have to be my dance partner.”

Dean only blinked at the boy. “But I don’t wanna dance.”

Jerry let out a big huff. “Looks like I’m gonna have to push you out.”

“Try it.”

Jerry pretended to push at Dean’s shoulder and chest, as if he was using all the strength he had in his scrawny body. After a few tries, he gave up with a sigh. “You sure are strong, boy.”

Dean turned to look at the dance floor. It was packed, and Jerry knew as he studied his face. He had seen so many times Dean abandoning a girl on the dance floor when it got too crowded, retreating to his booth, or sometimes to the men’s room, or even outside, where Jerry would find him with a smoke, trying to calm down, trying to _breathe_. But Jerry could tell Dean was thinking about it. He really was, and Jerry’s heart got stuck in his throat, wishing, hoping. Until Dean shook his head and checked his watch. “Didn’t you say you were gonna take me home before bedtime?” he asked.

Jerry’s heart fell to his stomach. He frowned and glanced at his own watch. 11:55. “Yeah.” His voice was small, disappointed. “C’mon, if we catch a cab now, we’ll only be five minutes late.”

Back at their hotel, Dean unlocked their door while Jerry leaned against the wall, arms crossed and trying to keep from pouting. “I thought you liked to dance.”

Dean glanced at Jerry from the corner of his eye as he opened the door.

“I do.”

Jerry sighed as he walked into their room. It was dark, but neither of them reached for a light. He took his time taking off his jacket, throwing it haphazardly on the foot of his bed, and ran a hand over his hair, wet from the snow. He was disappointed, but like always, not surprised. As he was kicking off his shoes, he heard the fuzzy sound of the radio, music cutting in and out between static. Jerry looked to find Dean across the room, his back towards him, standing and fiddling with the radio on the dresser.

“I thought you were going to bed, old man,” Jerry said.

Dean didn’t say anything, he just turned up the volume when he found a station he liked; it was playing a low instrumental, something sweet and romantic, something that Jerry didn’t recognize but could see himself bursting into tears if it got to be too much. And it was already getting to be too much, indeed; his heart sped up when Dean turned around and talked towards him, and his hands got fidgety, flexing against his pants.

They stood in the middle of the room, facing each other, close enough to where Jerry could smell Dean’s Woodhue. Dean smiled.

“Are you going to let me lead tonight, Jer?” he asked before pulling Jerry closer to him, his hand on his waist, the other hand taking Jerry’s own. It seemed to swallow his hand, and Jerry felt infinitely small, especially now with his shoes off. They were no longer eye level, and Jerry was struggling to look up at him.

Jerry tentatively put his hand on Dean’s shoulder and followed his feet, letting him waltz them around the room. Dean was such a lovely dancer, so smooth, so gentle, so sweet. He had envied any girl who had had the pleasure, and now he was in his arms, being twirled around to a soft medley. And it was snowing outside, and Jerry wished they were out in the snow, just so he could see Dean’s nose get pink in the cold. But their hotel room was just as nice.

When hazel eyes finally met brown, Jerry felt his cheeks get rosy. Dean had been looking down at him the entire time, an adoring smile on his face. Jerry felt his throat get dry. Dean looked perfect as always; his hair looked curlier than usual due to the moisture from outside, and his eyes sparkled in the muted light from signs and street lamps filtering in from the window, and he grinned his beautiful smile that made Jerry breathless on more than one occasion.

Dean’s arm snaked around Jerry’s waist, pulling him closer, chest to chest, cheek to cheek. Jerry thought he was going to cry.

“Is this what you wanted to do tonight?” Dean asked softly, his smooth voice tickling his ear. Jerry could feel Dean’s thumb stroke the small of his back.

Jerry nodded, brushing against Dean’s cheek. “Am I that predictable?”

The chuckle that came from Dean’s throat made a shiver go down Jerry’s spine. “You’re far from predictable, Jer. Believe me.”

They danced for a while. Jerry had calmed in Dean’s arms as they continued to sway to wordless love songs that seemed to speak a thousand words with each note. Sometime during a particularly heart-wrenching bridge, Dean let go of Jerry’s hand and wrapped both arms around him, engulfing him, and Jerry wanted Dean to put him into his pocket. Jerry’s arms were resting on Dean’s shoulders, one hand playing with the hair on the nape of his neck and the other holding tightly to his jacket, just to reassure him he was still there, that this wasn’t a dream, that he wasn’t going to let go. Jerry wondered briefly if he could feel his body tremor so slightly, or hear the heartbeat that was drumming so quickly in his chest. He was absolutely vibrating with joy and anticipation, so happy that Dean would even hold him so close.

When Dean pulled his head away, a rush of panic ran down Jerry’s spine, his hands flexing against his shoulders, trying to keep him from going too far; he didn’t want to stop so soon. But Dean only looked down at him and smiled. Jerry’s arms fell from his shoulders to rest on his chest, his thumbs idly playing with the lapels of his jacket.

Jerry could tell his eyes were looking down his face, studying him, which always made him go red under such an affectionate and soft gaze.

“What are you looking at?” Jerry squeaked.

“You.” Jerry’s heart ached. But Dean’s eyes glanced up to his hair and he added, “You need another haircut. Let me give you one for Christmas.”

Jerry gently punched Dean’s chest and he made an exaggerated pout. “Mr. Martin, do you think you can just cut my hair whenever you feel like it?”

“I know I can. Because you‘ve already let me,” Dean said simply, shrugging, but still with that teasing smirk at the end of his lips.

The boy just rolled his eyes, because he knew he was right.

The moment of joking passed, and they looked at each other. One of Jerry’s hands reached up and tenderly placed itself against Dean’s cheek.

“Dean?”

“Yes, Jer?”

“I—“

Jerry was hushed by a pair of lips gently pressed against his own, a gasp escaping his mouth, hands pulling him close. His heart felt like it was going to burst. _It's too much_ , Jerry thought. _It’s perfect._

He responded eagerly to the kiss, and his arms wrapped around Dean’s neck again, gripping tighter than before. He was struggling to keep with Dean’s pace; he kissed slow and gentle, while Jerry wanted more, he wanted, _needed_ , everything right then and there. But what was the rush? They were alone after all; no one to judge them but the moon and the radio still playing in the corner, and if Jerry could tear himself away from Dean, he would find that it had stopped snowing.

Then, Dean’s tongue swiped along his bottom lip, and Jerry was only capable of granting access. His mind was getting hazy, and he thought he was going to melt if he didn’t hold on tightly enough. Jerry's brain was racing to comprehend what was happening. _Dean’s tongue is in my mouth, he kissed me and he’s still kissing me and he smells so good and—_

Jerry’s eyes fluttered open when Dean pulled away, afraid he might turn away and leave him standing in the middle of the room. But Dean just smiled, and Jerry’s world exploded.

“I love you,” Jerry said, his voice barely audible.

Dean’s smile got tighter and his eyes hardened. “I know, Jer.”

Tears slid down Jerry’s cheeks while his teeth chewed on his bottom lip. He had to look away, so he focused on Dean’s tie, running his fingers along the soft satin. _‘I know, Jer?’ Why won’t he, why_ doesn’t _he—_

His thoughts were interrupted when large hands cupped his face, thumbs wiping away his tears as Dean clicked his tongue.

“My silly boy,” Dean whispered. Jerry looked up. _‘My.’ I’m yours._ “What am I going to do with you?”

 _Love me._ “Kiss me,” Jerry said instead. And he did, and it was just as perfect as it was before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not entirely sure what comic books Dean DID read, but I just looked up some fun ones that I thought he would be interested in, including some cowboy-inspired ones :)  
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter~


	4. The Nearness of You

_New Years Eve, 1948_

Jerry knew there were boundaries between friends. He was aware he couldn’t just walk up to a pal, tell him he had pretty eyes, and give him a quick kiss. Perhaps “Jerry Lewis” could; it would just be an act; a pal could laugh it off. But the same pal could just as well knock his lights out. With Dean, however, it was different. Sure, Jerry would kiss him all the time for a laugh, but he made it obvious he wanted more than a quick kiss in front of an audience. Jerry’s heart had soared the night they kissed in the dark, wrapped in each other's arms, tumbling onto Dean’s bed and necking for the rest of the night. Since then, Jerry felt their dynamic shift. Dean allowed himself to touch and be touched, which delighted Jerry to no end. Like when Jerry crawled into bed with Dean and asked to be held, complaining he was cold while when he didn’t have a shirt on, or the time Jerry sat on Dean’s lap and gave him a fat kiss on his lips in a booth in some club when people were around and Dean just laughed and made a fuss over wiping his lips, but his eyes promised him he was going to get it when they got back to the hotel.

They hadn’t done a lot together besides a hand job here and there, and, if Dean let him, a blowjob. But Dean was sweet, and he let Jerry kiss him now. What’s more, they slept in the same bed more often than not (it was cheaper, see), and every time he felt Dean press up against him and kiss his neck, Jerry’s breathing picked up and his head spun, and he knew they were alright.

What Jerry didn’t know, however, was how he wound up in the bathroom in the home of some Paramount executive with his best friend attacking his mouth at a New Year’s Eve party. 

Not that he was complaining. No, Jerry could never complain about a thing like that. Not when he was pressed against the wall, connected at the hips, chest to chest with his partner, with his hands in curly hair, and especially not when he had said partner’s tongue in his mouth and hands pulling at his shirt.

Jerry’s senses were becoming deliciously overwhelmed. He had had plenty to drink that night, and by the taste of it, so had Dean. Up close he smelt like a night on the town; smoke mingling with his Woodhue that left Jerry breathless, and he tasted like champagne, whisky, bourbon. The champagne Jerry drank made him feel fuzzy inside, bubbles clouding his thoughts, alcohol making his pants too tight.

Jerry let out a whine when Dean broke the kiss. He was addicted to his kisses, never wanting them to leave his own, but his eyes closed and a smile appeared on his face as Dean ran his mouth, hot and wet, over his jawline and neck. “Paul,” Jerry gasped, hands running through thick curls. He tugged lightly when Dean thrusted up, cock hard against his hip, trying to get some much-needed friction.

Dean’s arms were inside the kid’s jacket, wrapped around his skinny frame, and Jerry squirmed every time he felt his hands flex against his sides. When Dean got like this (which wasn’t very often), Jerry couldn’t help but feel a perverted type of power; _he_ was the one Dean kept gazing at across crowded rooms, _he_ was the one who made Dean act that way, _he_ was the one Dean wanted tonight. _Dean wanted him_. Jerry could never get over it, and he didn’t think he would any time soon.

Dean’s arms unfolded themselves from between Jerry and the wall and his hands moved to cup his ass, making Jerry moan a little too loud in the bathroom. “You gotta be quiet,” Dean hissed in his ear, which was answered with a breathy giggle.

“Or what? You’ll punish me?” Jerry drunken mouth challenged, finding Dean’s eyes as his head pulled away. His eyes had gotten impossibly darker, a newly lit fire behind them. Jerry let out a grunt at a particularly hard thrust.

“Fuck, Jerry.” It was barely a whisper, and Jerry’s trousers got tighter.

Jerry searched for Dean’s mouth and Dean did not hesitate to suck on Jerry’s tongue while the boy rolled his hips into Dean’s, meeting his thrusts. He pulled Dean to him, a hand on his hip and the other still in his hair, keeping them as close together as they could be. He wanted, _needed_ Dean something awful, wished they were somewhere else, wished they were in a dark bedroom where no one was watching, where there was no party going out outside the door, nobody to interrupt, just them, just _Dean_ …

It was now Dean’s turn to pull away and he looked into Jerry’s half-lidded eyes, mouths open, sharing hot air. Jerry felt large, warm hands slide down to his thighs, vaguely processing Dean’s whisper, “Come on,” helping Jerry wrap his legs around his waist, and _oh God_.

They groaned in unison and Jerry reveled in the pleasure that shot through his body as Dean canted up his hips, their cocks perfectly aligned. Jerry held onto broad shoulders while Dean’s head was nestled in his neck, breathing hot air against his skin that made Jerry shiver. He left open-mouthed kisses along his throat and favored his pulse point, nibbling lightly. Jerry blushed at the realization that Dean could feel his heart race against his tongue. It only made his heart beat harder, loud in his ears.

Jerry trembled in Dean’s arms as they set a rhythm against the wall, trying to get off as fast as possible. He knew he wasn’t going to last long, and he panted heavily in Dean’s ear. His hands were reaching any and everywhere, pawing at his jacket, shirt, hair, as if trying to convince himself this was all real. “Paul?” Jerry moaned out without thinking.

“Yeah?” Dean muttered against his shoulder. He sounded out of breath.

Jerry opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His mouth became dry, and he felt his climax quickly approaching, completely enveloped in _Dean_. He needed to tell him, let him know how much he wanted this, wanted _him_ , tell him he loved him with every single atom in his body, but his throat refused to let anything come out. 

His silence seemed to encourage Dean to thrust his hips faster against the boy’s while Jerry tried desperately to speak. “ _Paul,_ ” he said, barely a whisper, “I’m so close, please.”

Dean let his forehead rest against Jerry’s shoulder. “Come for me, Jer, be a good boy and come.”

His head hit the wall, and with a silent cry, his body spasmed in Dean’s arms, holding on tight as he soiled his trousers. He barely heard Dean mutter in his ear, “That’s it, Jerry, such a good boy for me, so good, _fuck,_ ” which was then followed by a stream of curses. 

When Dean came down from his high, he let Jerry’s legs fall back to the ground. If he didn’t have his arms wrapped around his shoulders, he was convinced he would have slipped like Jell-O right on the cool blue tile. Jerry hid his face in Dean’s neck as he held him, his body still shaking in the aftermath.

Then he began to laugh. How silly, it was; them, in a too-bright bathroom, holding each other after soiling their pants like horny teenagers, while people probably wondering where that crazy Martin and Lewis team had run off to, none the wiser to what had just happened.

“What are you laughing at?” Dean asked, not unkindly.

Jerry lifted his head and grinned, still giggling. “Mm, I just love you.” 

Dean’s mouth opened, but the sound of joyful shouts from the main room made him turn his head sharply towards the door. The countdown from 10 was muffled, signaling it was almost midnight. Jerry placed his hand gently on Dean’s cheek to meet his eyes, and his smile softened. Dean looked startled at first, but he visibly relaxed when Jerry began running his thumb over his cheek.

“Happy New Year, Paul,” Jerry whispered.

“Happy New Year, Jer,” Dean replied before he gently pressed his lips against Jerry’s, opening 1949 with a kiss that Jerry prayed to God he would remember in the morning.


	5. I'm A Fool To Want You

_1949_

“I'm in love with her, Jerry,” Dean said. There was a wistful smile on his face, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m gonna marry her.”

“You’re married to Betty,” Jerry said dumbly. His fingers played with the label of a beer bottle.

Dean looked at him. “We’re not doing so well, Jerry, you know that.”

Jerry didn’t know what to say, so he only nodded. He didn’t know how to feel about Jeanne. All he knew was that he was losing Dean to her. What a horrible thing to say; he felt selfish just thinking it. Dean wasn’t his, and he wasn’t Dean’s. But God, how he longed to be. They were merely partners, with a thing on the side. At least, that’s what it seemed like these days.

Yet he couldn’t help but imagine what it was like to be Jeanne. To be with Dean and receive all his affection, his touch, his kisses, his love. It was easy for Dean to love a woman. He can touch her and tell her he loved her and no one would bat an eye. But it was different with a man, with _him_. Especially with him. It hurt Jerry, and he longed to know what it was like to belong to Dean, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.

That made him sick to his stomach.

God, why couldn’t Dean marry him? Well, he was already married, too, of course, but somehow, he knew Patti would understand. And of course, the most obvious fact: he was a boy. Dean reminded him all the time. He was a kid; his young partner nine years his junior. But Jeanne was only a year younger than Jerry. And _yet_.

If only things could be different. If only being with a man could be accepted, if there was any way possible for two men to expressive their love for each other without any harmful backlash and guilt. It was driving Jerry mad, and it was getting hard to keep how he felt to himself.

He briefly wondered if Dean would tell Jeanne about him, about them, but he supposed there was no _them_ to tell her about, was there?

“I know,” Jerry sighed as a tear fell down his cheek.

~~~  
_September 1, 1949_

Jerry quickly stood and roughly wiped his eyes when the door opened, but his shoulders relaxed when Dean emerged from behind it. They exchanged smiles as the door softly clicked closed.

Dean’s hands slipped into his pockets as he gave Jerry a half smile. “What are you doing hiding in here?” he asked, playfully accusing.

Jerry considered whether he should tell him the truth, even though he was sure Dean could tell he had been crying. Instead he said, “Needed some air.”

Dean still smiled, but it dwindled. “I’m sure the air is better outside.”

“It’s still in here,” said Jerry with a shrug. The room was placid and calm, almost cold, which was no small feat, for it was the end of summer turn fall. Still, the chill weighed heavy in Jerry’s chest. The only light came from a lamp next to the bed, illuminating one half of the bedroom, and it was quiet save for the clock ticking on the wall, the conversation of wedding guests locked out. All Jerry could hear was his heartbeat thundering in his ears. It was rather distracting.

“Jer?” Dean’s voice called, and Jerry looked up at him.

“You look really great, Paul.” He was too loud; he spoke too fast. The quiet was interrupted, and he tried to keep from cringing. He made a small smile. Wet heat flashed behind his eyes. “Honest. I know I said it earlier, but I really mean it. You dress up nice.” _Don’t you fucking cry now, Joey. The last thing Dean needs on his wedding day is to make you feel better just because you’re jealous_.

 _Jealous_. What a hateful word, a bitter concept. Unnecessary and spiteful. Jerry wished he felt nothing, when instead he felt everything.

“Thanks, Jer. You don’t look so bad yourself,” Dean’s voice was soft and sincere.

There was another heavy silence, but Dean took a few steps closer towards Jerry. Jerry was frozen by the bed, like his shoes were nailed to the floorboards. He did a good job from flinching when Dean stood in front of him and wiped invisible dust from his shoulders.

“I’m really happy for you, Paul. You can tell she really loves you.” Jerry tried to keep talking, keep it about Jeanne, about _Dean and Jeanne_. Jerry was still learning how to get used to her.

“I know.” Dean had that same smile on his face as he did months ago, but it turned bittersweet. And it was small and beautiful in Dean’s special way.

“You love her?” came the voice of the nine-year-old. It was the only thing Jerry could do to keep from bursting into tears.

“I love her a lot, Jerry.”

It was getting harder to keep it together. “You love me, too?” A shaky soft murmur, a request for validation.

Dean paused. Jerry didn’t care for the silence that laughed at him. _He doesn’t love you, you fool. After months with him, alone, in dark hotel rooms, with secret kisses and gentle touches and soft moans, he couldn’t love you. You’re just a kid, a stupid Jew only good for a paycheck and a fuck_.

“Sure I love you, Jer. You’re my pal, ain’t yah?” Dean said, his tone too light to even come close what Jerry needed. 

“Yeah, I’m your pal,” Jerry said.

Jerry wanted to go. Or, maybe it would better if Dean turned around and left him alone, let him sit on the bed and cry for a while. Dean was much too close for comfort, and he wondered if Dean noticed he had begun to shake. Besides, he should get back to the party before anyone noticed the groom was gone.

Dean slipped his hand into Jerry’s and Jerry let him, but he turned his head away as he felt a tear slide down his cheek. He didn’t want Dean to see, to see that it was too much.

“Oh, now,” Dean whispered, “My sweet boy.” Strong arms wrapped around Jerry’s skinny shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug. “Don’t cry.”

It took all the power in his body not to bury his head into Dean’s neck and sob like he’s done so many times before. _My sweet boy. I’m not yours. I don’t belong to you, you’re—_ He hushed his mind and let the words sink in. He held onto Dean’s jacket tightly as a shudder ran through his body, accompanied by a shaky breath.

“I love you, Paul. So much,” Jerry said into his shoulder. It felt dirty to say out loud. It wasn’t his place to say on Jeanne’s big day.

“I know, Jer.”

 _Was that all he could say?_ Jerry’s mind screamed. That’s all he ever said when it came to them, along with his look of rejection and a simple ‘Not tonight.’ Classic Dean. He knew Jeanne wasn’t treated like this; no, far from it. Jeanne got the love, the love Jerry craved, the same love that Jerry couldn’t get from Patti. It wasn’t the same. Why did they have to be so fucking complicated?

Jerry had to pull away, the tears stinging his eyes, but Dean got to his face first. He gently thumbed his tears away, cradling his face in his large, warm hands. “My sweet boy,” Dean repeated. Jerry felt his heart break. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Kiss me,” Jerry said without thinking. He hoped he wouldn’t say his line. He begged. _Say you will. Please. Please_.

Dean had a smile on his face. He always smiled, like nothing ever mattered, like he didn’t care. How unfair. He pressed his lips gently on his cheek, kissing a tear away, and Jerry’s eyes fluttered closed. Oh, he wondered what Jeanne would do if he saw them. What would she think, to see her new husband peppering kisses on his young partner’s face to help the jealousy and pain go away. The thought made him smile, and a giggle escaped his throat.

“You feel better?” Dean asked at the sound.

Jerry nodded and batted his eyelashes at him. “You forgot somewhere.”

“I was saving the best for last.” His lips met Jerry’s in a much too short kiss.

Dean’s hands fell from Jerry’s face as he took a step back. “I got to get back to the party. Gotta keep up appearances.”

Jerry nodded and his fingers distracted themselves with his wedding ring.

He felt sick right down to his stomach.

“You coming?” He was already at the door, and the creak was too loud.

“No, just need a moment. You’re letting out all the air.”

Dean let out a chuckle and said, “Sorry about that.” He paused, halfway out the door. “I’ll make sure you get a drink when you come back.”

“Thanks,” Jerry’s voice followed Dean out the door before it clicked shut as quietly as it could.

Jerry fell back onto the bed, his elbows on his knees with his head in his hands as a broken sob filled the room.


End file.
